How Can I Kill Him?
by iamstormageddon
Summary: This is the story of 14-year-old Adeline McGensey as she enters the 38th Hunger Games as a District Six tribute.
1. Chapter 1: Adeline

The warm, soft summer air wafted from the cracked window all the way to my bed. The scent wrapped me in its clean embrace and made me think pleasant thoughts of past summers, when the big oak tree in my backyard carried as many leaves as it could hold on its long, elaborate branches. My mother would sit on the back porch and knit while my father and I played catch with my brother and sister. Our black-and-white dog would run around us and pick up the ball whenever anyone dropped it. Then we would laugh when he would run away with the ball in his mouth, as if to say, "Come and get me!"

But I quickly remind myself that those days are over. I'm reminded every day, especially when she bursts through the door every morning that I don't wake up on time. Like today.

"Ad, get your lazy ass up _right now!_ The laundry doesn't do itself, you know!" Miss Metta shouted at me from behind my bedroom door.

I groan.

"And you better start right now, before I get in there and slap you out of bed!" I didn't move a muscle until I heard her footsteps stomping away from my door and down the stairs. Then I flip the covers off my legs and step out of bed.

And then I remember: today is Reaping Day.

I shoot out of bed and strip off my pajamas. I reach into my little chest of drawers and pull out the dress I've selected for this year's Reaping, a plain black button-down with a collar around the neck and white flowers embroidered on the hem. I put it on fast as lightning, and slipped on my shoes as I raced down the stairs. When I arrived in the kitchen, Miss Metta was sitting at the table, drinking water and reading the newspaper. The _Panem Paper _is the only existing newspaper left in the country, since District 3 has become so prominent with its technology. They manufacture our electronics, so now everyone has mobile phones and portable tablets. You can read the local and national news for free.

It's not that Miss Metta isn't "with it" in the technology sense, it's just that she's poor. When she could no longer afford to pay her last maid, she killed her. I was sent to Miss Metta as a foster child, and she just started making me work for no pay. So basically I'm a slave. But not according to the authorities. According to them (and Miss Metta), I'm a part-time aid that cares for her fatally sick daughter while she works across the district at an office building. Not surprisingly, all this is totally and utterly false. Miss Metta has no job, and she has no daughter. She never even married. She's just a lonely witch who delights in making me do impossible tasks meant for a husband, like painting the roof and cleaning the gutters. I also do all the standard tasks, such as cooking, cleaning, laundry, and the like.

She's always dreadfully afraid of the Reapings. She's always terrified that I will be chosen to serve as a tribute in the Hunger Games. And if that ever happens, she'll be left alone.

All alone.

So today, I have to remind her of the Reaping.

"Good morning, Miss Metta," I say with a little curtsey, trying my best to be agreeable.

She smirks. "Mornin', you little punk. Now where's my breakfast? I'm hungry."

I smile back with equal smugness. "Oh, I don't have time to make you breakfast today, Miss Metta."

"Why the hell not?" she snaps back at me.

"Because today is Reaping Day," I reply with a smile that would surely split my face in half.

I could swear I saw her whole expression change from annoyed to terrified in less than a second, but she instantly regained her composure and told me, "Well, you better head down to the Gathering Square, then. I'll be there in a bit. But you better not be picked, alright?

"Yes, Miss Metta."

"And you better not have put your name in for charity tesserae, do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Metta."

"Are you lying to me? You better not be lying to me."

"No, Miss Metta."

"Good. Now get your ass down there. And don't be late."

"Yes Miss Metta."

"Well, GO!"


	2. Chapter 2: The Reaping

The Square is densely packed with people, with children all around me, all of us facing towards the massive stage on the north side of the Square. On the stage is a microphone on a stand, and a wooden table with two glass bowls, one holding the boy names, the other the girl's. To my left is Andreae Schuman. To my right is Fay Werksman. I know what each and every girl is thinking. _Please don't take me. Take the girl next to me, just don't take me._

As we wait in unnatural silence, a woman takes the stage. She's normal-looking enough, even though she's from the Capitol. Tightly curled brown hair, deep eyes, and clad in a pretty ruffled purple dress.

She takes the microphone, clears her throat, and says in a pleasant voice, "Welcome, District Six, to the 38th Annual Hunger Games! And may the odds be everin your favor."

Everyone claps half-heartedly.

"Let's get right to picking the tributes, shall we?" says the woman. "Ladies first, or course."

She moves to the table with the bowls and reaches into the right one. After a bit, she pulls out a slip of paper. After slitting the seal open, she opens the slip and looks at the name.

The world is completely silent.

"Lepida Kenshrow."

My heart skips a beat. Lepida Kenshrow. The girl with one leg. I know her from school, but we have never spoken before.

She would never survive the Games. Not for a second.

I watch as Lepida hobbles up to the stage using her crutch with as much dignity as possible, but it's obvious that she's trying hard not to break down in tears. The odds aren't in her favor. They were never in her favor, since she was stung in the leg by a tracker jacker, barely survived, and had her leg amputated at age three.

When Lepida reaches the stage, you could see the shock apparent in the Capitol woman's face. But Lepida's face is stony and white as a sheet, unfeeling to the world. As if there is nothing left in her world that is worth living for, so becoming a tribute doesn't matter. Or maybe it does, deep down inside her. After all, she has a mom and dad and sisters back home. My eyes scan the square to find Clio, Lepida's nine-year-old sister. I see her some fifty feet away, in the arms of Sybil, the oldest sister. She's 16, but she looks ancient as she holds poor little Clio, staring with cold, dark eyes at the stage, fixated on her sister. They all look a lot alike.

Then, I feel something in my stomach bubble like boiling water. The steam rises slowly up through my chest, up my throat, and up my mouth as I shout:

"Wait!"

Everyone turns to look at me. I barely notice them.

"I volunteer!"

A gasp ripples through the crowd. "Well, then," says the Capitol lady into the microphone. "We have a volunteer! Come up, my dear!"

I walk towards the stage as if I'm in a dream. I don't register the emotions of myself or those of others around me. When I climb the steps and take the stage, Lepida leaves. As she limps past me, she whispers in my ear, "Thank you."

I nod grimly. She smiles a weak smile and walks back down the steps and melts into the crowd of thousands.

I turn around and become aware that the Capitol lady is smiling at me. "Hello, dear. So nice of you to volunteer for your…friend. So, what is your name?"

I take a deep breath as she holds the microphone to my face. "Adeline McGensey."

"Wonderful!" says the Capitol lady. "What an exciting reaping! And we haven't even chosen the boy tribute yet!" She laughs a gentle, genuine laugh, but no one joins in. Not even Plato Tate, the town jester. He is silent, just like everyone else.

I am vaguely aware of her saying something else while going over to the table and selecting the boy's name. I am also vaguely aware of her announcing that this year's boy tribute for District Six will be Redson Hobblebush. Then I think: who is Redson Hobblebush?

And then I remember.

Redson is fifteen, and is a year older than me. I thought of how he won an award last year for good citizenship. They announced it over the speaker at the intermediate school. All of the boys in my class cheered at the announcement, because they all looked up to the leadership and good nature of Redson. He was the perfect friend, the perfect student, the perfect guy. And not to mention his gorgeous auburn hair and clear blue-green eyes that melted girls' hearts whenever he passed. But that still didn't make up for the fact that he would have to die. And, quite possibly, I would have to do the job myself.

As I see Redson weave his way through the massive crowd and up the steps to the stage, I steal a glance at him. He is looking cuter than ever, with his hair falling in straight lines across his brow and his eyes gently trained on me. I nod my head slightly in acknowledgement. He raises one eyebrow, as if to say, _Well, this will be interesting._

He takes a stand next to me, and we both look at the Capitol lady, whose name she does not disclose. She grins at us, and announces, "Well, ladies and gentlemen of District Six, your tributes for the 38th Annual Hunger Games, Adeline McGensey and Redson Hobblebush!"

"_Stop!_" a woman's voice screams out through the crowd.

All eyes turn towards the speaker, whose figure is advancing at a rapid pace towards the stage. I squint trying to make out the identity of the woman. But as the woman reaches the edge of the stage and looks at me, my heart stops.

"Stop right there, you little punk, or I'll skin you alive!" Miss Metta screams again.

"Oh god," I mutter quietly as I turn away from the crowd. Redson puts one hand protectively on my shoulder, even though we have never spoken before. That's just the way he operates, like a caring person.

But even Redson can't distract me from the terror behind me. "If you move one more step, I swear, Ad, I will kill you!"

The Capitol lady is definitely shaken now. "Um, Miss?" she says uneasily. "If you would be so kind as to calm down, I'm sure that…"

"Shut up, you Capitol hog!" retorts Miss Metta. "Now you listen to me, Adeline," she spits at me in a dangerously low voice, "I will not tolerate you leaving me to go die in some freakish Capitol experiment! Who else," she says empathetically, addressing the whole District, "will care for my poor, sick daughter, who is knocking on Death's door? And who else will so generously do my chores while I am busy providing for my struggling family at my office job? You, of course! And I lovingly took you in as my foster child when both your parents were unfit to care for you, at the tragic disappearance of your father and crippling addiction of your mother. I pay you a good sum of money a month for pocket change and to reward you for all the hard work you do for me, my dear. And I could not bear to see my lovely, hard-working, dedicated maid be lost at the hands of such a cruel yet noble death."

"That's a lie," I say, my defiance piercing the air like needles to a balloon.

Miss Metta's eyes narrow like a predator zeroing in on its prey.

"What did you just say?" Her voice masked the fury of a thousand angry tracker jackers.

I looked her hard in the eye, feeling braver by the minute. "I said that's a lie. I don't care for your daughter. You don't even have a daughter! And I don't generously do your chores, you make me! You don't have a job! You just sit at home all day and order me around! And you didn't even want to take me in…in fact, you hated me since the day they sent me to you! And how _dare _you suggest that my parents were unfit to care for me, because at least they loved me, unlike you! Also, you don't pay me a cent for my work. I'm practically your slave! And that last part is the biggest lie of all. You never cared about me. You don't give a damn if I die! And quite frankly, I would rather die in the Games than spend the rest of my childhood with you as my slave-driver!

"Now if you'll excuse me, _Miss Metta,_" I say, with rage seeping through my pores, "I have the Hunger Games to win." And with that, I turned, took Redson's hand, waved to the crowd of my fellow District 6 members, and walked off the stage. Then, I stole one last look from across the Square at Miss Metta.

She was crying.

Miss Metta, the heartless, lazy witch, was crying.

I stop and stare at her. My mind flashes back to the day when I was taken away from my parents and my father disappeared.

It was a dreary day. Mother was in the basement, and occasionally I could hear sounds of insane laughter carrying through the open door, a typical sign of another one of her morphling trips. Father was paying bills at the kitchen table, and my brother and sister were sitting against the wall, very aware of the tension in the house, but not quite able to comprehend why.

Then, suddenly, they came. They flooded through the door in their shiny white official uniforms and protective white helmets that looked like fishbowls. But they stormed into the house and came for two people: my father and my mother.

They marched down the stairs and came back up carrying my struggling mother, looking as deteriorated as ever from her recent morphling trip. She was screaming for them to let her go, that she could change, to please stop. Then I heard my father scream about letting him stay to take care of the children. We children, by the way, were huddled in a frightened mass in the corner, shaking with fright.

They didn't listen to my father's last known request. They simply dragged my father and mother out the door, leaving us alone in the world.

I don't remember how they found us. The Peacekeepers must have sent for someone to transport us to the orphanage. All I remember is arriving at Miss Metta's dilapidated old cottage in the center of town, armed with nothing but a little suitcase and my coat. And, for all these years, I have acquired little else.

And now, as I stare at the broken-down form of Miss Metta, I begin to feel an emotion worming its way into me that I have not felt in a long time.

Pity.

I haven't felt pity in ages because I had previously believed, simply, that no one deserves pity more than me. That my hardships were as bad as they come. And throughout the years, I have kept this mindset.

But even so, pity fills me in that second. And the only thing that flushes out that foreign emotion is the need to keep walking, to keep walking away from my dark, desolate past and walk towards a frightening, uncertain future. And armed with Redson at my side, kind and considerate Redson who was willing to act like we have known each other for years when we have never spoken at all, I knew I might have a shot at winning the Games.

But only at his expense.


	3. Chapter 3: Redson and Casper

Redson and I are led away from the Square to the Train Station, where two official guards are waiting to take us to the building in the Capitol where we will prepare for the Games. As we board the shiny silver train, Redson beckons me to the back of the long procession of Capitol people, including escorts, other guards, and the lady in the purple dress.

"So nice to meet you both! You look like fine, young specimen of the kind of children that should be fighting for the prize of the Games!" she exclaims to us with genuine enthusiasm, although there is no excitement in the essence of her words. "Now, you dears have to understand that our schedule for the next four days is _jam-packed! _We have interviews, appearances, formal dinners, and countless other things that we _must _stay on task for, so I need your absolute focus and cooperation. Do you understand?" Redson nods, and I just stare at her.

"Is something the matter, dear?" the Capitol lady asks me. "Because it would be a true shame to not be well on an exciting day like this!"

I snap out of my trance. "Yes, Miss, I'm…I'm fine."

"Stupendous!" she says with a huge grin. "By the way, my name is Relinda Dunne. Wonderful talking to you two! Toodle-oo!" And with that, she exits the room with the _click-click-click _of her high heels.

We wait until the entourage is out of earshot. Then, Redson turns to me with a hint of a smile on his face. "She's quite a character, isn't she?"

I laugh a little. "Well, we've certainly had worse."

We both chuckle. Then a slightly awkward silence follows, until Redson says, "I wonder who our mentor is."

"I don't think there's a lot to choose from in our district."

"It could be Hephesala Jury."

"I have no clue who that is."

"Good. It's best if you don't," he says, rolling his eyes.

"How come?"

"She's a real pain. Always in your face, constantly talking to you, even in the arena!" he says. "I always cringe whenever I learn that she's the mentor for that year. I bet she won her Games by annoying her opponents to death."

I laugh again, a real one this time. I could really get used to his company.

We walk in silence for a minute or two. Jeez, this train is big.

After a while, I ask him, "Hey, how's your dad's business doing?"

He looks at me, surprised that anyone would take an interest to the grocer's business. "It's going well, I guess," he replies. "As good as it can get, you could say."

"That's good."

Another few seconds of quiet.

"So…how's your father doing? Where does he work?"

I stop, at a loss of words. "Well, um…my father…is not here, at the time."

"Oh," he says, clearly embarrased. "Is he deceased?"

"No!" I say firmly, then throw my hand over my mouth. Redson looks a bit hurt. "He's missing."

A look of concern crosses Redson's face. "Wow, I didn't know. I'm real sorry about that, Adeline. I hope they find him."

"That's why I want to win this thing. I'll use my winnings to buy research to find him."

Redson nods. "That's a really noble cause. I have to hand it to you, I have a lot of respect for people like you. I genuinely wish you the best of luck in these Games. I hope you win."

I smile. "Thank you so much, Redson. That's really sweet."

By this point, we have reached the end of the train. We turn to look at each other, and Redson smiles. "Well, I guess we have a lot to talk about."

After wandering around for a few more minutes, we find the compartment containing Relinda Dunne and another man who I have never seen in my life. As we enter the compartment, I notice the smart décor and the luxurious blood-red couches. One is empty, the other is occupied by Relinda and the stranger. The stranger has tanned skin, electric blue eyes, and wire-rimmed spectacles. By my best guess, he looks to be in his early 40's. He is dressed in a sharp suit with a blue tie that matches his eyes. In his lap is a small whiteboard, a marker, and a mini eraser. Relinda invites us to sit down for a little chat with this man, our mentor.

"Hello, you too! So glad to see you spending some bonding time together! Now, I want you to meet Mr. Casper Leddington. He's going to be your mentor for this year's Games!

"Hello, Mr. Leddington," Redson says, as he stands to shake his hand. "How are you today?"

But Mr. Leddington doesn't reply. At least, he doesn't reply with words. Instead, he flashed Redson a smile and the "thumbs-up" sign.

Something is wrong with this man. And I figure out what it is as I look at his whiteboard, marker and eraser.

He can't talk.

I'm slightly taken aback by this newfound fact. How can we have a mentor that can't even speak?

But before I can ask any more questions in my head, Relinda starts in on a speech about our training schedule for the next couple of days. As she's talking, Casper takes his whiteboard, uncaps the marker, and discreetly writes something down. When he's finished, he smirks and turns the board around for us to see. The board says: …_ZZZ…_

Redson lets out an abrupt snort of laughter that stops Relinda's speech.

"Is something the matter?" she says with a snap of annoyance in her voice.

Redson grins.

"No, nothing's wrong, Relinda," I say, holding back giggles. Casper just smiles at Relinda.

"Well, if you are no longer interested in what I have to say, you don't have to _laugh _at me," she says, sounding hurt. She stands up suddenly and walks briskly out of the room. Redson, Casper and I wait until she is gone before we laugh. Well, before Redson and I laugh. Casper can't, of course.

I am reminded of my previous question. "So, Casper, er…why can't you speak?"

Casper looks at us sincerely, then begins to write on his board. When he shows the board to us, it says, _9__th__ Hunger Games. Shot with arrow in throat. Not fatal, but enough to puncture voicebox. Irreversible damage. Dumb for life._

I read this explanation probably about five times. "That's awful," I finally say, but that's not enough. I can't even imagine how incredibly painful it would be to have all these stories to share, all these stories about the Games and death and alliances and friendship and triumph, and not being able to share them. It must be excruciating.

Redson says to Casper, "Well, Mr. Leddington, I assure you that when Adeline wins the Games, and uses her winnings to find her father, she'll set apart a fund to aid your voice reparation. Right, Adeline?"

I look at Redson, then at Casper. "Yes," I say. "I promise."

Casper smiles, and his eyes fill with tears of happiness. I can tell he wants to speak more than anything in the world.

He then writes something down on his board, and it reads, _May I call you Ad?_

I look at him, and nod. "Sure. That would be great. I like that name."

He grins, then erases the words and writes new ones. This time, they say: _Red for him?_

I'm confused for a second, then I realize he wants to call Redson "Red."

"What do you think, _Red_?" I say to him, trying it out for size. I like it. It fits him.

"It's suiting, isn't it, _Ad_," he replies with a small smile.

Casper begins to write something down, and we watch him as he writes, erases, and re-writes countless times, trying to find the right words.

I turn my eyes to Redson, only to find that he was already looking at me. We hold each other's gaze for a while, longer than intended. I can see the ocean in his eyes, crashing and foaming on the sand.

Our connection is interrupted by Casper, whose board now reads: _Love?_

I feel my face getting hot, and Redson's is already tomato red.

Casper smirks. He writes some more, and then the board says:

_I'll take that as a yes._


	4. Chapter 4: Suspicion and Denial

After a while of talking to Casper, Red and I learn that he was the victor of the 9th Hunger Games at 12 years old but has never previously been a mentor because the Capitol wouldn't allow it, simply because he cannot talk. After appealing to the Capitol for 29 years to allow him to mentor District 6 tributes, he was finally granted mentorship, but only for this year, so he can "prove himself" to be a suitable mentor and teacher.

"Well, I'm sure that you're a fine mentor," says Red enthusiastically. "I mean, you survived the Games, and that's no accident, is it?"

Casper smiles for about the twentieth time tonight. I've noticed that Red really knows how to make a person feel wanted and cared about. But this, while being an exellent attribute for a person, might be a deceptive and dangerous one for a tribute. Then, the unthinkable dares to cross my mind: _What if he's acting like he's my friend now, only to betray me and kill me in the Arena?_

I shake the thought immediately from my head. Of course he won't betray me! How could he? He's so kind and considerate, even in real life, so he can't possibly kill me in the Arena!

But still, I obey that little voice in the back of my brain and decide to keep one eye on him at all times, in case for any suspicious signs.

At this time, Casper checks his watch, and his eyes widen. He holds out his wrist to us, and the watch says **2:32 A.M.**

"Wow," I say. "Relinda's going to be pretty angry…"

"Because _we are not at our full attention level, so we cannot function properly for the jam-packed day ahead of us!_" Red exclaims in a perfect Relinda imitation.

I laugh, and so does he. Casper just grins like there's no tomorrow.

Then, Casper stands up and writes something quickly on the board. When he turns it around to us, it says:_ Better hit the hay. See you two lovebirds tomorrow._

"_Casper,_" says Red weakly, putting a hand to the side of his face like a shield so I won't see his blush. But I still do.

Casper looks at me, then at Red, then back to me, and raises one eyebrow. I laugh silently out of embarassment and look down into my lap. I really do love him.

After a few silent seconds, Casper taps us on the shoulder. The board now reads: _Well? Aren't you going to bed, too? _

Red and I look at each other. "Maybe," he says with a tiny smile, "but not yet."

Casper shrugs and exits the compartment.

There's more silence as Red and I avoid each other's eyes. Then, I ask, "Did you sign up for charity tessarae?"

He nods. "Yep. 25 shares."

I am in disbelief. "_25 shares? _That puts you in as a definite dead-ringer for being tribute!"

"I suppose so," he says, "but some people need food more than I need to stay at home, safe and sound, while another boy fights for District 6."

I look at him, not believing how kind he is. No way he would betray me in the Arena. "You know, you are one of the most selfless people I have ever met. It's amazing how easily you can just value others' lives above your own."

"It's always come naturally for me."

We look at each other for a while. This time, in his eyes, I see myself, walking alone his shore, wading in his ocean. Collecting starfish, shells, and tiny little crayfish. In his eyes, I see my future.

We stay like this for God knows how long. Then, finally, he asks me, "Are you scared?"

"Of what?" The question was so vague. I'm scared of a lot of things, truthfully. I'm scared of heights, rodents, spiders, and bees. But most of all, I'm afraid of drugs. Alcohol, painkillers, morphling. I've honestly never taken a pain pill in my entire life. It's all because I'm afraid of becoming my mother. Addicted to it, always craving it, not being able to live without it, not being able to stop. Hurting the ones I love just for the sake of using it. Willing to give up everything I've worked for just to use it one more time, just one more time. It's frightening. So I vowed, back when I was nine years old, to stay away from drugs for as long as I live.

So now, I look at Red, waiting for his response to my clarification.

"Are you afraid of the Games? You know, having to kill kids and all that."

"Not to mention muttations, starvation, and dehydration. Oh yeah, and getting killed yourself."

"Not to mention," he says, repeating my words.

Another few seconds of silence. "But, well…are you?"

I take a deep breath before I give my reply. "I'm not afraid to die. That's the one thing I'm not afraid of. I am, however, afraid of making others die."

"That's a legitimate fear," he says.

"What about you?"

"I'm afraid of the killer bees," he says with a breathy laugh, referring to the tracker jackers. I wonder if he's aware that the girl I volunteered for in the Reaping was paralyzed by one.

Then, as if reading my thoughts, he says, "By the way, that was really brave of you to volunteer for Lepida. I bet she's really thankful."

I think back to earlier today, when she thanked me as she limped off the stage. "I hope so."

"Hey," he says suddenly. "Why don't we team up in the Arena? You know, as allies? We can find someone else in the Training Center, too."

I was just about to graciously accept, when I remember the voice in the back of my brain. _Don't accept! He's just acting like your friend! Sooner or later you'll be lifted from the Arena with his knife in your back!_

Once again, I shake it off. "Sure, that would be cool."

He smiles. "I guess this is the Hunger Games equivelent of asking you out on a date, huh?"

I try to stay cool on the outside, but on the inside, I'm screaming with excitement. The little voice starts up again, but I quickly smother it with my next sentence.

"I guess you could say that."


	5. Chapter 5: The Avox

I don't remember how I got into my compartment last night. All I know is that I'm in it right now, because when I feel a sharp poke to my shoulder and I open my eyes, Relinda Dunne is standing over my bed, smiling at me.

"Ahh!" I exclaim in surprise as I sit upright. The duvet cover falls off my body, and that's when I realize I'm naked. "Ahh!" I say again as I scramble for the blanket to cover myself. When I do, Relinda is still smiling.

"Well, Adeline, today is a _jam-packed _day, so you need to get up right now and get dressed! We'll be at the Capitol at three, so I suggest you get ready!" She then leaves as suddenly as she had come, quietly shutting the door behind her. I just pray that she doesn't go into Red's room.

I hop out of bed, doing as I was told, and wander around my compartment to find the bathroom. I finally find it, and step in. The walls are covered in a sleek chrome color, and mirrors line the walls. The sink and toilet is across from the shower, which is my goal right now. I pull back the shower curtain and reach for the faucet handle, only to find that there is none. Instead, the shower is lined with dozens of buttons, levers, and dials of all sorts. Fascinated, I search for a while until I find the temperature buttons: _Hot, Warm-Hot, Warm, Lukewarm, Cool, Cool-Cold, Cold. _I press the _Warm-Hot _button. Immediately, perfect-temperature water flows down from a shower head installed in the shower ceiling. I step in and press a random button. I am instantly bombarded with bright pink foam that smells like raspberries. After coughing wildly and rinsing out my eyes and mouth, I rub the foam on my body. At least it smells good.

When I am finished with washing my hair (which takes some time, since I had to find the shampoo and conditioner buttons) and rinsing the rest of the foam off my body, I turn off the shower and step out. There are no towels. I stand there, shivering, until I notice a small button near me that reads, _Dry. _I press it. I then feel hot air blowing on all sides of me, and in a matter of minutes, both my body and my hair are completely dry.

"Nice," I comment.

After tying my hair into a bun above my head and putting on a simple white T-shirt and black sweatpants, I wander over to the dining car, where I find Relinda, Casper, and a bunch of other people in white uniforms, carrying plates and platters in and out of the car. Red is not there yet. Casper is the first to notice me, and he waves.

Relinda turns to greet me. "Hello, my little slug-a-bed! I see you've learned how to work the showers!"

"They're…interesting," I reply. Casper nods with a smile.

Relinda smiles. "Well, come-come, Adeline! Sit down and eat! The Avoxes," she exclaims, gesturing to the servers in white uniforms, "make lovely food! I doubt you'd want to miss breakfast with such talent as that in the kitchen."

I sit down at the table. Immediately, a plate of food is set down in front of me. I turn to look at the Avox who gave it to me, and I'm taken aback by his appearance. Tall, blonde hair with a red tint. Light brown eyes, freckles. A sad smile on his face.

I stare at him. He looks so familiar. I rack my brains as far back as I can go, to the earliest memory I can offer up. This memory happens to be the one where I was in the backyard of my old house, playing catch with my father and siblings.

Then, as if someone has just threw a switch in my mind, I make the connection.

The hair, the stature, the fact that he looks so much like me.

"…Dad?"

My father doesn't respond. Just looks at me with those sad, wistful eyes.

"Dad," I say louder.

He glances around nervously, as if he would get in trouble for being my father.

So I try to reassure him. "Dad, it's me. Dad, it's me, it's Adeline. Your daughter! Dad…please tell me you remember me!"

I look at Relinda and Casper, who are staring at me, along with all the other Avoxes. My father looks frightened, as if he doesn't know who I am.

"Dad!" I shout at him. This is impossible. "Dad, don't tell me they turned you into an Avox for no reason! Don't tell me that, Dad! Dad, what did you do! _Dad, answer me!_"

It's not true. It can't be true. I tell myself this over and over. They couldn't have made him into an Avox. He didn't do anything!

I grab my father's shoulders and shake him. "DAD! ANSWER ME!" I scream for the whole train to hear, then burst into sobbing tears. Just then, I feel Casper's hands on me as he rips me off my father's body. He stands to face my father, and makes some weird hand motions and mouths things.

My father stares at Casper's motions, and replies with some of his own. They communicate furiously back and forth for a minute or so. Then, Casper turns to face me. He points to me, then to his skull, then slashed his arm through the air as if to say "no."

And then I realize what he's trying to say.

My father has no memory of me anymore.

I sink to my knees. I am no longer crying. Just shaking from the shock that my own father doesn't remember who I am.

Relinda stands and crosses over to me. "Adeline, dear, I don't…"

"Don't talk to me," I respond with more harshness than I intended.

Relinda looks hurt. "But dear, I just wanted…"

"Shut up, you…" I yell, looking for the right insult, but using Miss Metta's instead, "you Capitol hog!"

Feeling ahamed of myself, I break into a fresh round of sobbing and run out of the dining car. As I throw open the door and run to my compartment, I almost collide head-first into Red, who is heading towards the dining car.

His eyes open wide in concern. "Oh my God, Ad, what…what happened?"

I throw my arms around him and hug him as hard as I can. He holds me against him without a word, as if he understands. After a long time, I let go of him, and run past him toward my compartment. I open it, slam the door behind me, and sink to the ground.

_What am I going to do?_


	6. Chapter 6: The Talk

After I have calmed down, I go back to the dining car. The only one there is Casper. When he sees me, he motions for me to sit down at the table. I do.

He writes on his board: _I will ask you questions. Answer truthfully. Do you understand?_

I nod. He erases, then writes more.

_Who are your parents?_

I take a deep breath. "Yestin and Lillie McGensey."

_Do you live with them?_

I shake my head.

_Why not?_

"My mother was a morphling addict. My father was taken away by Peacekeepers, along with my mother."

_Did you have siblings?_

"Yes, Benton and Marigold."

_Where are they?_

"I have no idea. At the orphanage, I suppose."

_Why weren't you at the orphanage?_

"I was sent to live with a foster mother, Miss Metta."

_Did she treat you well?_

"No. She made me work for no pay and lied to authorities, saying that I was a part-time nurse for her fatally sick sister, who doesn't exist."

Casper looks sadly at me.

_That Avox was your father. _

"Yes."

_How did you know?_

"Because I remember that my father looks just like me."

_He doesn't remember you._

"I know."

_Do you know why?_

"No. I do know that Avoxes are criminals, but my father wasn't a criminal. At least, I think he wasn't."

_Yestin McGensey is very famous at the Capitol._

I am confused. "Why?"

_He attempted to murder his wife._

"What?"

_According to reports, he felt that by murdering his wife, he and his children would be free of her wrath._

I am stunned. "Why couldn't the Peacekeepers just imprison her? He didn't have to try and kill her."

_He wanted to put her out of her misery._

"How would killing her put her out of her misery?"

_So she wouldn't have to constantly need the drug anymore._

"Is that why he was arrested?"

_Yes. And your mother was arrested for domestic violence and severe neglect._

"Oh my God."

_I'm very sorry._

"It's fine."

Casper looks at me once more, sadder than ever. _One more question._

"Okay."

_You and Red?_

"I don't know."

_He likes you._

"I know."

_Do you like him?_

"Yes."

_Well then, you know._

"I guess so."

_Are you allies for the Games?_

"Yes."

_Good. Get some more kids, too._

"We're planning to."

_Wonderful._

"Thanks for this."

_No problem. Now, do you want to eat breakfast or not? Because today is a "jam-packed day!"_


End file.
